


Two birthdays Madara spent with Hashirama (and one he didn't)

by kajukai (iruhe)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-01 20:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16291319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iruhe/pseuds/kajukai
Summary: Or, if you'd only like the happy, it can be read as 'Two birthdays Madara spent with Hashirama'. Just skip the last bit.Written for the HashiMada Bigbang 2018 on Tumblr. Prompt is 'Hashirama's Birthday'.





	Two birthdays Madara spent with Hashirama (and one he didn't)

Hashirama was born when violent shades of reds, oranges and yellows exploded and set the landscape ablaze, the trees proudly bursting forth with a last stand of brilliance before succumbing to the dormancy of winter.

When his birthday rolled around for the first time since the founding of Konoha, it hadn't been an event at all, even if it had been a beautiful day -- crisp like apples and sweet like the persimmons that were ripe for harvest, their heavy branches bowing, pregnant with fruit.

Shinobi had been brought up to live each day as though it were their last, and birthdays were a frivolous thing to celebrate when you didn't even know if you were going to live to see the next minute, so it was something he had completely neglected, mired in paperwork, playing hide-and-seek with Tobirama, suffering through tedious meetings with repetitive people (which he preferred to the demanding people), annoying Madara and generally overseeing the construction of the village.

Despite having been kept almost too busy to breathe however, he had been content. Hashirama had his childhood friend back, and together, they'd finally seen their long-time dream come to fruition. There was nothing more he could've wished for on his imaginary birthday candles.

It was therefore with no small amount of surprise when Madara dropped by his makeshift office that night, after most of the staff had left for the day, and plopped something wrapped in an indigo and red maple leaf patterned furoshiki on his already overcrowded desk.

Hashirama smiled in delight at the sight of his friend, a balm for the eyes after far too many hours of confounding legalese, and also because Madara didn't seek him out very often when it wasn't about business. He would've been ashamed to admit he was the one who did most of the pestering, except he wasn't. Ashamed, that is.

"I'm going to need glasses very soon," Hashirama said by way of greeting. "In fact, I'm fairly certain Tobirama is already short-sighted with all the squinting he's been doing, he's just too proud to admit it."

Madara looked unimpressed and unsympathetic. "Talk to me about it only when you both actually are half blind like some of us have been."

Right. There was that. A big can of worms he wasn't going to touch. Hashirama wisely decided a change of topic was in order before certain Uchiha moods soured. He wasn't keen on spending the rest of the night alone now that Madara had voluntarily wandered into his lair.

"So, what's this?" he asked so brightly it sounded desperate.

Madara perched on the side of the office desk and let his hands do the talking. Nimble fingers unwrapped the furoshiki to reveal a two-tiered lacquer box. On the bottom layer was a carefully arranged assortment of nigirizushi that reminded his stomach he hadn't had anything to eat in the last eight hours, and the top layer of side dishes looked ... a bit like the osechi they had for New Year.

Hashirama raised both eyebrows at the spread and set aside his brush. "That's quite extravagant! Did you make all of this yourself?"

"Yes."

"You can cook?!"

"Obviously," Madara rolled his eyes.

"What's the occasion?"

Madara gave him a mildly exasperated look. What had he done _this_ time?

"Dinner is the occasion," his friend said, pushing the boxes forward. "You can't keep missing meals, idiot. You take care of everybody but yourself."

"You'll just have to keep feeding me on time then," he grinned, idiot that he was.

"That's your mother's job. Where's Tobirama anyway?"

"Ah, meeting with the land use planners to hash out a zoning draft," Hashirama said, clearing a space for them to eat without staining important documents. Particularly those with stamps and signatures on them.

"Good. More for us then."

"Were you intending to feed Tobirama too?" That was another pleasant surprise. Did that mean they were finally going to get along?

"Only my scraps."

Nope. Got his hopes up too soon.

-

"By the way, how is the search for additional water sources coming along?" Hashirama asked around a mouthful of rice and egg roll.

"We've found two rivers we can dam, but they are fairly shallow and might not be of much help during the dry season." Madara chewed on a piece of salmon nigiri, made a point of swallowing, and then looked pointedly at Hashirama as if to say 'see, this is how a civilised person eats', before speaking. "We're not in any danger of water shortage now, but we have to plan ahead for when the village expands. It's going to happen sooner rather than later."

Hashirama nodded and chomped on a slice of lotus root, blissfully unaware of Madara's telepathic etiquette lesson. "We'll still need a reliable alternative should something happen to our main river. What about groundwater? Surface water is more susceptible to pollution after all."

"You mean poison."

"Ever the pessimist."

"Realist. We have enemies. _You_ have enemies. However, yes, I have considered groundwater as well, ideally confined aquifers. I must ask: Are you able to penetrate deep into the ground with your mokuton--"

"--Sounds kinky--"

Madara kicked him in the shin. "--OR manipulate the trees into doing that with their root systems? I think this would be the most efficient way of locating hidden water sources."

Hashirama chuckled. His friend wasn't above dirty talk and innuendo, but when he was talking business, he meant business. No tomfoolery. That was exactly why Hashirama did it. He didn't get many chances to ruffle Madara's feathers these days. "Agreed. I'm game. When do you want to do it?"

"One o'clock tomorrow, if you can."

"All you had to do was ask. Where do we rendezvous?"

Madara heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I'll meet you here."

"Can't wait," Hashirama beamed.

"Why do I put up with you?"

"Because you need my wood."

"... I unfortunately do."

-

That night they laughed and ate and talked about everything and nothing, still a little in disbelief over how far they've come. Hashirama jabbered unfettered about his plans for the village, some of which Madara mercilessly shot down, and it was great, because it meant Madara was listening and paying attention and actually taking him seriously.

At one point, they'd started flicking black soybeans at each other to see who could catch the most with his mouth (he won). Then they'd fought over the last piece of inarizushi because having grown up with lots of siblings just like Madara, he knew food tasted better like that. He'd let his friend have that one, of course.

They generally mucked around, and even managed to joke about the period of time when they hadn't been friends, according to Madara anyway, because Hashirama had never stopped thinking of him as one.

Life was good.

And then, as though magic escaped from the moon when she was at her zenith, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere. 

They stared at each other, something like static electricity crackling in the air between them. It teased and prickled.

Hashirama tasted anticipation on his tongue, pulse speeding up as he watched Madara slink off the desk, moving closer and closer, all graceful and predatory like a big jungle cat. He found himself staring into dark, intense eyes, heavy with an interest Hashirama was sure was mirrored in his own. Then his friend straddled him, and the feverish, demanding kisses that followed had been the most decadent sort of dessert.

What happened next was a blur of straying hands, rocking hips, hitched breaths and the rustling of cloth as offending garments were removed or hastily pushed out of the way. Hashirama leaned back in his chair to give his partner better leverage and choked on a cry when Madara started riding him. Slowly at first, teasingly, steadily building up tempo until they were bucking hard and fast against each other. His friend had prepared himself beforehand too, Hashirama noted through the haze of lust that had fogged his mind as he met every downward stroke with an upward thrust of his hips.

They had sex sometimes. It was just another thing they did. Men had needs, and it made sense for shinobi like them with a huge bounty on their heads to be with someone known to them rather than hook up with a stranger who could've been an assassin. That would've been a huge mood killer more than anything else.

It wasn't a big deal with Madara, and it was never awkward afterwards. Madara was safe territory, and the fact that their encounters were always mind-blowing was a nice bonus.

The quiet office was punctuated by the sounds of mating flesh and heavy panting, intimate whispers lost in the night and the creaking of the chair as it swayed dangerously along with their movements. Hashirama lost himself in the hypnotic red of his eyes and the thrill that tingled down his spine because the door wasn't locked and someone could walk in on them at any minute and ... ooooooh fuck! Hashirama sucked hard on the sweaty crook of Madara's neck to muffle his groans as his orgasm ripped through his body, leaving him slumping bonelessly in his chair, breathless and very, very sated.

He traced idle circles on his friend's hips, bracing himself for complaints about him making a mess again, but Madara was being surprisingly agreeable, and they'd simply lain quietly together, listening to the sound of each other's breathing, Madara playing with a stray lock of his hair.

"That was nice."

"Hn."

"You planned this."

"Hn."

Life was really good.

-

The significance of that dinner completely flew over his head until months later, when he was celebrating the new year -- their first in Konoha -- with his clan in a stuffy sort of formal affair he never really had the patience for.

Hashirama's attention was starting to wander halfway through the elders' long-winded speech (bless their souls, Hashirama hoped they lived as long as they were winded), and he swept his gaze absently down the length of the long table, gratified to see equally bored faces, then at his plate of osechi. Funny, he seemed to have had something like this not too long ago ... wait. Hashirama bolted upright, startling Tobirama, who had been close to dozing off beside him.

That amazing-but-currently-inappropriate-to-be-recalling dinner two months ago, Madara had in fact made him take at least a bite of each of these very same things that were on his plate now.

Daidai orange for an abundance of descendants.

Konbu for joy.

Black soybeans for good health.

Tiger prawns for longevity.

Red sea-bream for auspiciousness.

Lotus root for an unobstructed future.

Burdock root for strength and stability.

 _Oh_ , Hashirama's heart trembled. Was that what it was? But why had Madara done that out of the blue? Two months ago ... two months ago ... when the earth was golden and the air was sweet with the smell of harvest. It hit him like a mallet to his brain. It was his _birthday_ , wasn't it? A birthday nobody had cared about, himself included.

Trust Madara to say so much without saying anything at all. He knew his friend was rubbish at articulating emotion, but he'd nevertheless managed so sweetly to wish him many happy returns of the day. He'd even included his best wishes for their village! It only took him ... two months to get the message. Hashirama slumped his shoulders. No wonder Madara called him an idiot.

He knew, many still had their misgivings about Madara, but one day, he hoped soon, they would know his friend to be the thoughtful man that he was, and see that he was just as committed to protecting the village and everyone in it.

Hashirama stared at his plate in a daze, chest constricting and overflowing with an emotion he could not name. He truly, desperately, wanted to see Madara right now.

What was he doing? Did he have anyone to welcome the new year with?

  


* * *

  


The second year his birthday trundled up to him, it should have bulldozed him over because Hashirama had forgotten about it all over again, but in his defence, there was something greater weighing on his mind.

Nine days ago, Madara had left on a mission to the Land of Swamps, which had the misfortune of being located near the Land of Demons. There must be something sinister in the water that breeds demonic activity over there because an especially malevolent being in the shape of a gargantuan monkey had appeared and gone bananas. The (literally and figuratively) poor denizens, who had run out of options, had come to Konoha and paid top dollar (by their standards) for 'an expert' to 'do something about it'.

Nevermind that shinobi aren't exorcists.

Nevermind that what they offered covered only the cost of a D-rank mission and this was easily an A or S.

Hashirama had nevertheless been moved by compassion for the motley crew of scrawny villagers trembling like reeds in the wind.

Tobirama had figured that if exorcism meant getting rid of something, then that was pretty much what sealing did, so all they had to do was send 'experts' to beat the monkey up, and then seal it away. Easy.

Madara had said it would be troublesome if their enemies got hold of the demon. Who knew what they would do with all that raw power? Better for Konoha to get to it first.

Thus, an Uchiha, famed for their battle prowess and ocular powers, and an Uzumaki, famed for their air-tight seals, would have to do the job.

The mission had originally been assigned to Uchiha Hikaku, formidable in his own right, second only to Madara himself within the clan, and Uzumaki Tsushima, a student of the esteemed Uzumaki Ashina, but Madara had taken the case to Hashirama and not so much requested as announced that he would be going on this mission personally.

The official reason had been because Hikaku's wife was due any day now, but that had been such a lame excuse and they'd both known it. Hashirama suspected it was really because Madara needed to get away. That, and he'd been itching for some field action -- something they no longer got to see, being in the positions they were in.

He wasn't worried; he had full confidence in Madara's ability to execute the mission flawlessly, but it was so quiet without his friend around. Hashirama wilted.

The good news was, despite having been so heartlessly ignored, the Birthday was nevertheless willing to grant Hashirama's wish because the very person he had been thinking about had just slipped silently into the Hokage's office through the window, caked in mud and looking exhausted.

"Madara!" he exclaimed in equal parts pleasant surprise and shocked horror. Hashirama quickly moved towards his friend but decided to hold back on the hug as he gave the man's miserable appearance a cursory look. Then he grinned. "Welcome back! I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow evening at the earliest, according to Tsushima's message anyway."

"The journey ran smoother than anticipated."

"You look like you ran straight from a battle in the swamps."

"I did."

Hashirama gave him an incredulous look.

"It was a miserable place. Waterlogged and full of unidentified biting insects," Madara said dourly. "I wasn't staying longer than I had to."

"Well, you look beat. And ... organic," he said, gingerly lifting a stiff lock of hair. A layer of dried mud cracked and fell onto the floor in flakes. "Get some rest. We can have the debriefing tomorrow. Speaking of which, where's Tsu--"

"--I'm going for a bath and a soak in the onsen," Madara interrupted, already crouched on the windowsill. "You're coming."

Hashirama looked at the mountain of scrolls on his desk, then at his best friend, who he hadn't seen in more than a week. The decision was easy.

"Alright," Hashirama chirped, leaping out the window after his friend, happy as a lark, waving cheerfully at the shocked faces they sailed by.

-

They were given a wide berth at the bathhouse.

Hashirama supposed it was understandable -- he wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere near a walking pillar of dung-coloured something had it been anyone other than Madara (or Tobirama) either, and would you look what happened when dried mud came into contact with water? Hashirama winced at the amount of disgusting brown globs he'd had to wash from his friend's hair as Madara scrubbed down his face and body.

"How on earth did you get this filthy?" He fervently hoped they weren't clogging the drains. "Don't you have the Susanoo?"

"Using it would've destroyed the surrounding landscape and villages. Those people have little enough as it is. They can't afford to rebuild," Madara said, rinsing himself off with more water.

And this was the Madara he knew.

Hashirama was certain he was staring at the back of his friend's head with a besotted smile on his face right now. He'd probably been looking to let loose in a good fight but had ultimately held back out of consideration for a community of strangers. Ah, Madara really was a kind man, beautiful inside and out.

His gaze travelled south, following the long, wild mane he'd painstakingly detangled down to its tips, watching as it kissed the dimple at the base of Madara's spine in a way he sort of wanted to do right now.

Hashirama smacked himself mentally.

"You uh, mentioned insects. Are you bitten anywhere?"

"Everywhere."

Madara turned around on his wooden stool and gestured wordlessly at his thighs (how did THAT happen) and calves. There were even some on his arms, red, swollen and angry. Hashirama itched just looking at them. He placed his hands on Madara's thighs (hovering above the area would've been sufficient but this was Madara and he'd sort of moved instinctively. Besides, it wasn't anything he hadn't touched before), concentrating on channelling healing chakra to his palms, until he felt Madara shaking -- he looked up -- with suppressed laughter.

"What?" He knew for a fact his friend wasn't ticklish.

"People are staring at the Hokage fondling a naked man in a public bath."

Hashirama sputtered. "I was not!" He cast a furtive look around, but scandalised gazes had already been carefully averted. "This is medical ninjutsu! He is _Madara_. Madara has nasty insect bites!" Hashirama declared loudly to nobody and everybody.

"You're making things worse, Hokage-sama."

"Why?"

"They already gossip about me and now they're going to think you're the insect. What would Mito say?"

"They would not--you're not helping!" he whined, broad shoulders drooping pitifully. His hands continued to be gentle however, big and warm, soothing the ugly red welts and fading them from Madara's skin.

He heard Madara snicker. The ingrate.

And okay, he might have let his hands wander a little bit, but it was professional. Only to check for any other spots Madara might have missed. Really!

But. But! Objectively speaking, Madara did have a great body. He was well-proportioned, lean lines and lethal muscles, and his fair skin provided such a stark, dramatic snow-and-ebony contrast against his midnight hair ...

"Are you done? I'm ready for a soak," Madara said, interrupting his thoughts.

Hashirama withdrew his roving hands. "Yes. Let's get out of here," he said a little too eagerly. Those prying eyes were beginning to make him uncomfortable.

Madara gave him an amused and slightly diabolical look as he stood up, and Hashirama found out why when he was treated to an eyeful of crotch he couldn't help but stare at because it was in his direct line of vision. Bastard. The view was then thankfully, unfortunately obstructed by the small white towel his friend had wrapped around his hips.

"Come on." Madara hauled a flabbergasted Hashirama to his feet.

-

They tread carefully down a flight of stone steps littered with autumn leaves, the chill of the night nipping at their heels. Hashirama found them a part of the onsen that was sheltered under a bower of flaming red maple trees, lit from below by ambient lanterns. One for the view, and two for the privacy. Hashirama normally loved interacting with people, but right now, he had no desire to be disturbed or gossiped about, and he was certain Madara was looking forward to soaking in peace as well.

Incidentally, this very hot spring had been a happy chance discovery when they'd gone aquifer shopping almost exactly a year ago, and it has since become a local hit.

Madara groaned, sinking his sore, battle-wearied muscles into the wonderfully inviting hot spring.

Hashirama groaned, sinking his stiff, desk-bound muscles into the wonderfully inviting hot spring.

A thin layer of vapour swirled above the water surface and vanished into the air.

It was quiet save for the sound of running water, the chirping of crickets, the rustling of leaves as a red fox darted through the bushes, and "I missed you," Hashirama blurted.

Madara turned to look at him in surprise, clearly not having expected that. It earned Hashirama a soft smile. The rare, intimate kind that melted him into a happy puddle of goo inside, particularly because he knew only he was privy to this side of Madara. These moments were few and far between, which made each one all the more precious, and it was at times like these that Hashirama felt maybe he was someone very special to Madara too.

"Your shoulders look tense. Come, I'll give you a massage," Hashirama said quietly.

"I could say the same for yours, but I'm not going to turn down a free massage," Madara smirked and sidled over, hesitating for a moment before turning his back to him.

Hashirama smiled at the significance of the gesture. Come to think of it, hadn't Madara done this in the bath house earlier too? "Don't mind having someone behind you now?" he teased, working the knots out of a very vocally appreciative Madara's shoulders.

He was extremely glad for the privacy.

"I'll suffer you. You're actually useful, and I don't have to take a piss right now."

Hashirama chuckled, a low, rumbling noise in his chest. "You're awful."

"I try. Now move your hands, not your mouth."

"Awful."

Madara was silent but Hashirama just knew he was smirking.

"Hey, Madara?" Hashirama's hands stilled to small sounds of protest, but this was something they needed to talk about.

"What?"

Hashirama let his hands fall from Madara's shoulders to snake around his friend in a loose embrace he could free himself from if he so wished. When there was no sign of rejection, he quickly tightened his hold. It was more comfortable to talk like this. Hashirama propped his chin on a pale shoulder. "Have you ever thought about ... you know, the future?"

"You talk about the future a lot. Be specific."

Roots. "Like marrying, having children." Because deep down, Hashirama was afraid it would be far too easy for Madara to simply up and leave, without people that tied him to the village. People he would give his life to protect. And people who would give their life to protect him. Yes, there was his clan, but it just wasn't the same as ... someone like Izuna had been. Blood ties.

"No."

"Surely your clan elders must've said something by now."

"They have."

"And?"

"I'm not interested."

"Why? You need an heir."

"An heir that will be viewed as a monster because they share the same blood as me. I'm not going to put any potential child of mine through that," Madara said far too casually for such a heavy topic, as though he had already resigned himself to such a fate. Hashirama hated it. If anyone deserved happiness, it was his best friend.

"Things will get better. We just need to give it time ..."

Madara hummed noncommittally.

He tried again. "Life's stable now. The next generation will have a safe place to grow up in, and ... I think it would be good for you, to have a family of your own."

Madara cast a sideways glance at him. It gleamed like the point of a kunai. "Don't tell me you've set me up with someone."

"No! No, of course not. I wouldn't go behind your back. It's just ..."

"What?"

"Imagine," Hashirama said, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice because this was something he'd daydreamed about on more than one occasion, "if one of us had a son and the other had a daughter, we could betroth them! And when they have children, the Senju and Uchiha would truly be united by blood! And then, when we're old and wrinkled and retired, we can laze about in the sun all day like cats, spoil our grandchildren rotten, walk them to and from the academy like the doting and awe-inspiring grandfathers we'd be, things like that. Doesn't it sound great?"

"You've barely begun your tenure as Hokage and you're already thinking about retirement?" Madara's voice was drowsy but amused.

"Always plan ahead. We can afford to do so now."

Madara snorted softly. "You are ridiculous."

"So? What do you say?" He bumped their heads gently together. "Hey? Madara?"

Hashirama leaned forward at the lack of response, and smiled. His friend had dozed off, comfortably using him as a bed. Ah, he must've been really tired. He watched his best friend, giddy with happiness anew that Madara was willing to let him in this close; that he trusted him enough to show his back and sleep unguarded in his presence. It had not been an easy path for them, and Hashirama truly did not want to lose what had been so hard won.

He thought back to the scene at the bath house and felt an ire kindle in his chest. This was what his friend had to deal with on a constant basis. How did he handle it? To his credit, Madara had never breathed a word about this, but no wonder he'd needed to get away.

Truth be told, he was growing frustrated at the lack of progress. Why did no one see? Madara was a kind man who wasn't willing to marry and have children of his own because he didn't want them to suffer what he had! He'd held back during his mission because he hadn't wanted to leave those poor villagers with nothing. He wasn't a threat, Hashirama thought, gently brushing away the long fringe that covered half of Madara's face and tucking it behind his ear. Why couldn't anyone see how precious he was?

Hashirama sighed and held him closer, watching over his dozing friend as the occasional maple leaf drifted by. If anyone had been watching at that moment, they would've seen the Hokage gazing at the person in his arms with an impossibly tender look on his face, one he did not even know was there, looking as though there was no place else in the world he'd rather be.

-

Again, it was only when he'd run into Tsushima much later that Hashirama learnt Madara had travelled at full speed back to Konoha after that mission. He'd dropped Tsushima at half point, telling him to travel at his own pace, after the Uzumaki had asked why were they in such a hurry to get back is anybody dying and could they please slow down because he was about to keel over.

That explained why Madara had shown up in his office like that, but why?

Muddy Madara. Bathhouse. Maple leaves. A red fox plumping into its fluffy winter coat. Hot spring. The one they discovered last year. The day after that round of office sex and sushi dinner, which he only realised a couple of months late that it had been a birthday dinner.

_Birthday._

He was an _idiot_.

Madara had been in such a hurry to get back, travelling, he suspected, sans rest, so he could spend Hashirama's _birthday_ with him.

Hashirama smacked his face with his palm. How could he have been so oblivious?

  


* * *

  


He remembered his birthday the third year.

It should've been something he looked forward to, except there no longer was anyone to sweetly wish him all the best things in life, or run himself into the ground rushing home just so they could spend time together.

This year, he only had his memories. They stabbed repeatedly at his heart, but he replayed them over and over in his mind, a mental self-flagellation.

Hashirama looked down at the village and vast expanse of forest from atop the stone monument of his face -- the one Madara had thought ugly and excessive, but as Hashirama was finding out, was an ideal place to escape and be alone. Tobirama knew not to bother him here.

This autumn was exceptionally cold, the forest a muted expanse of desaturated colour, dirty rust and dull browns, like the trees were in as sombre a mood as he was, like there was no longer anything to celebrate and they could not wait to go to sleep. The skies had been overcast too, an echo of his bleak heart. Even the winds had taken to howling. A droplet of water fell on his cheek. It was going to rain soon.

Madara was gone. His worst fears had been realised.

Hashirama brought his friend's hitai-ate to his lips. The metal was stinging cold. Madara had handed it over, saying it no longer meant anything to him, after he'd pursued the man back to his house, desperate and willing to do just about anything to change his mind, but Madara would not be persuaded. He'd kept this memento of his friend on him at all times ever since.

Hashirama wondered where it all went wrong.

No, he knew, and he'd deserved losing his best friend. Of course he'd been aware of the passive hostility towards Madara and machinations of the Senju to keep his friend and the Uchiha from coming into too much power, but he'd stupidly left things as they were save for the occasional slap on Tobirama's wrist that went ignored, choosing to believe everything would get better, misunderstandings would be resolved, once they got to know Madara the way he did, that people would eventually see in Madara what he saw -- how could they not? How blind would they have to be?!

He was _such_ a fool.

Prejudice, once left to fester, was like knotweed. Invasive, destructive, nigh impossible to uproot without drastic measures because of how widespread they become.

Hashirama stared stonily the buildings that have mushroomed all over the forest-turned-village. It had grown significantly since its establishment, housing more than just the Senju and Uchiha now. There were other clans and even civilians, merchants and auxiliary professionals.

Did these people, who now lived with warm food in their bellies and a safe roof over their heads, not know that they owed this to Madara too? The man they viewed as an enemy?

People. People were like sheep. Easily led, easily deceived, unthinking, blindly accepting of the common consensus, whether or not it was the truth. What was worse was Hashirama had seen this even amongst the shinobi clans. Elite ninja who were supposed to have a mind of their own. He'd witnessed them operate under an imagined fear because of something they'd heard from someone's grandmother's cousin's son's parrot, and the situation with Madara had exacerbated rather than abate.

How could these people claim to love him and smile so warmly at him but show an about-face to someone he cared deeply about? Someone so very special and dear to him?

These are the people he'd sworn to protect. And he would uphold that oath, for the greater good, but right now, he was angry. Angry at the world. Angry at himself.

Some friend he turned out to be.

Madara was a sensitive individual to begin with. People simply didn’t see it because he did such a good job of pretending. He kept his feelings bottled up inside and wore his pride like armour, holding the world at bay, and his tender heart guarded. He'd known of Madara's tough shell, known that it wasn't easy for him to open up to others, much less for people to get to know him. Madara had tried, Hashirama knew, but it only made sense that he'd shut himself off after one too many spurns. It was a form of self-defence.

He shouldn't have let his friend deal with it on his own.

He shouldn't have sat back, foolishly optimistic, and hoped things would sort itself out with time. Silence was tantamount to tacit approval.

He should have done more to be a bridge between Madara and the village.

He should have paid more attention to his friend's inner world, rather than take his flippancy at face value. Then maybe he would've been able to see when their visions began to go out of alignment, and he could've done something about it before they passed the point of no return.

He should have intervened, in his capacity as Hokage and as Madara's only friend.

Hashirama realised that too late.

What he wouldn't give for a second chance. To start over. He would do so many things differently this time.

Was it any wonder Madara no longer felt like he belonged? Was it any wonder he started looking for a different path, a different future? How much despair and disillusionment had he been in? Did he lick his wounds in private? And now the world would simply think the worst of Madara in a horrible, self-fulfilling prophecy.

Hashirama felt sick to his stomach. He knew was not above reproach for how things had turned out, and neither was the village. They were all complicit. They had all driven him into it.

But nobody cared, save him. Hashirama laughed bitterly.

He'd done his best to keep his spirits up for the both of them. He'd tried to let Madara know he treasured him by making sure they spent time together, just the two of them, and he'd loved their alone time as well -- their easy banter and familiarity with each other. With Madara, he was simply Hashirama, the boy by the riverside. Not the Hokage, the Senju clan head, Mito's husband or father to his newborn son, but perhaps that had been exactly it. He'd belonged to too many people, and Madara only had him, especially after his own clan had shunned him, something he hadn't even known about until the night Madara left.

Hashirama swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked up at the grey skies. Some friend he turned out to be.

How was it fair, that he'd been the only link that tied Madara to Konoha, the place that was supposed to be his home? The place that he _named_?

And now Madara had severed those ties again. After all they'd shared.

He hadn't been enough for him.

Hashirama remembered his eyes that night. Those beautiful red eyes that had flashed at him only in the heat of passion in recent times had regained its sharp edge and intent to kill.

He said he'd found a new dream.

A dream that did not involve him.

He felt hollow inside.

It began to rain.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started off light-hearted but my brain decided at some point that it didn't want Hashirama to have a happy birthday. I normally wouldn't have written angst without comfort; I'm definitely a happy ending sort of person, but this is a midpoint for them, and they do make up at the end, so it's not all bad, lol.
> 
> If I have butchered any new year traditions, I apologise. I did the best I could with Google.


End file.
